


Come Morning, I Am Disappeared

by Dont_touch_the_phlebotinum



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Jaskier | Dandelion, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Top Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-12
Updated: 2020-06-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:34:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24684679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dont_touch_the_phlebotinum/pseuds/Dont_touch_the_phlebotinum
Summary: "I heard there was a bard singing tales of witchers around these parts," said Geralt. He did his best not to smile as Jaskier puffed up a little at the news of his reputation spreading."And so you came to seek me out?"
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 10
Kudos: 330





	Come Morning, I Am Disappeared

It began, as most things in Geralt's life tended to, with a fight. One too many days on the road, scarce opportunities for coin or food or rest, tensions fraying, and Geralt had snapped. Had he not insisted upon following Geralt everywhere like an extraordinarily noisy shadow, Jaskier might have had the patience to weather his foul mood rather than let loose a few choice accusations of his own. He had always had a way with words. They cut right to Geralt's core, until Geralt had grabbed rough handfuls of Jaskier's rumpled shirt and kissed him hard and deep just to make him _stop_. They had collapsed, rutting against one another, right there in the grass, and did not surface again until they had worked out every last shred of frustration.

The second time it happened, Geralt had moved a fraction of a second too late during a hunt and ended up with sharp claws raking deep across his back before he could twist free to cut down the beast. Jaskier had set to tending the wound without hesitation. His fingers had been so soft against Geralt's skin, driving out any thought of pain or discomfort — or indeed of anything besides feeling Jaskier's tender touch everywhere he could. Geralt had sought his lips, and Jaskier had eagerly obliged in dragging his hands everywhere Geralt could imagine them.

By the third time, Geralt had stopped searching for an excuse.

He didn't bother trying to find one now.

The hour had grown late by the time Geralt reached the town, darkness long since fallen, yet there was little sign of anyone sleeping. Geralt could hear the raucous shouts from the tavern already. And through them, a voice singing strong and clear. With none but Roach to witness, Geralt did nothing to fight the smile tugging at his cheeks.

It was busy enough within the long, narrow space that made up the tavern's main room for Geralt to secret himself inside, and he found an empty table away from the crowd. None were likely to look his way any time soon, regardless — a rare blessing, one Geralt planned to savour. He took a seat, and let his gaze follow the other patrons' to the brightly coloured figure in the centre of the room.

Jaskier preened under the crowd's attention, strutting amongst them with a wink here, a grin there, his voice dropping low and seductive with each filthy lyric before rising again to command the room. Geralt would have rolled his eyes at the display once. Jaskier carried himself with the same cocksure swagger he had always possessed in abundance, yet now it seemed fully earned, fed by the adoration of the crowd. The clothes were new, and of finer quality than those Geralt usually found him in, but Jaskier himself was unchanged since their last encounter so many months earlier. And the ones that preceded it.

In Geralt's long life, Jaskier was one of the few constants.

As if he could sense Geralt's gaze, Jaskier's eyes found him from across the room, surprise flitting across his expression though his voice didn't falter. He shot Geralt the same warm smile that always followed this moment and turned back to the crowd, finishing his song with a flourish.

It seemed no time ago that Jaskier's performances were met with silence at best and violence at worst, the patrons of whatever dingy tavern he and Geralt found themselves in giving him a wide berth lest he trouble them for coin or perhaps threaten to play another song. Now, however, Geralt watched them surround Jaskier, hands clapping his shoulders, thrusting coins into his palm, bodies pressed up against his as if in hopes of becoming the muse for another of his bawdier tales.

Geralt stood as the crowd finally dispersed and Jaskier was able to approach, coming to a stop a respectable distance from Geralt's table. Neither of them made a move to sit back down. They watched each other across the space.

"I thought you were heading west, come spring," said Jaskier.

"I was."

Jaskier nodded, and toyed absently at the strings of his lute. Geralt had never thought he might be glad to hear the sound. It was disconcerting, the little things he found himself missing in the silence. But it was an emotion with which Geralt was growing ever more familiar when it came to Jaskier, and he was learning to make his peace with it.

"Run out of monsters to hunt already?"

More like he'd run out of people willing to pay for the service — or willing to let a witcher even approach their towns. Geralt did not remember the people being so superstitious the last time he had ventured so far towards the coast. He had remained as long as he could, but there was only so far he could stretch his meagre coin, and only so long he could go without sight of a friendly face.

"I heard there was a bard singing tales of witchers around these parts," said Geralt. He did his best not to smile as Jaskier puffed up a little at the news of his reputation spreading.

"And so you came to seek me out?"

Geralt eyed the other patrons, now settled down somewhat without Jaskier to rouse their spirits. A pair of pretty young women watched Jaskier with barely concealed desire. "The townsfolk seem to have taken a shine to you."

"Jealous?"

"What use would I have for ardent humans trailing my every move?"

He could think of a few, actually. No doubt Jaskier was thinking of the same. He did Geralt the courtesy of not mentioning all the times Geralt had found himself glad for Jaskier's presence.

"How long will you be in town?" he said instead. His tone was too light to be natural.

"Until morning. Unless you've caught wind of any monsters nearby in need of hunting?"

Jaskier seemed well acquainted with this town and its residents, after all. Aside from the pair still waiting to catch Jaskier's attention, Geralt had already eyed a serving girl and one of the young group of men crowding a far table both watching Jaskier with a look in their eye Geralt had come to know well in his years travelling with the man. He turned his gaze back to Jaskier to keep himself from searching for more of Jaskier's past conquests.

"'Fraid not, my dear witcher."

Jaskier licked his lips. Geralt's eyes followed the movement. They flicked back upwards to find Jaskier already watching him, that same knowing spark in his bright eyes that Geralt had yet to find anywhere else. The air seemed to thrum between them as they stared at one another.

Geralt hummed. His attempt at remaining casual was even worse than Jaskier's, he feared. "I'll have to find another way to pass the night, then."

A slow nod, and Jaskier's gaze drifted back across the room, its tables beginning to empty now. The light from the flickering candles and the fireplace across the room cast his features in a soft glow. It reminded Geralt of so many nights sat around tiny campfires, Jaskier pestering him for every imaginable detail about whatever monster he was hunting, keeping the cold and the quiet at bay with his company. Geralt had long ago stopped trying to convince himself it was anything but welcome.

Jaskier's eyes were back on his.

"I have a room upstairs," he said.

"Wouldn't you prefer the company of one of your new admirers?"

Jaskier grinned. "So you are jealous." He sounded delighted by the prospect.

"Are we going upstairs or not?"

It took more restraint than Geralt would have expected to keep his hands to himself as he followed Jaskier up two narrow staircases and along an only marginally wider corridor towards his room. He should have sought Jaskier out sooner. Or availed himself of a whore in any one of the towns he had passed through since he and Jaskier had last parted ways. It had been some time since he had felt any desire for paid company, however. As brief as Jaskier's infatuations could be, he was right about one thing: there was something to be said for returning to a familiar bed each night.

Jaskier was out of his doublet and already tugging at the laces of his shirt before Geralt had even closed the door behind them.

"You don't want me to do that?" Geralt said, working at the fastenings of his own clothes to catch up. His fingers stumbled at the first exposed sliver of Jaskier's pale skin.

"After last time?" said Jaskier, his voice filled with the same absurd indignation as it had been then. "No, thank you."

Geralt rolled his eyes, though he watched Jaskier continue to undress with a smile. "I apologised for that."

"My _favourite_ shirt, Geralt."

"And I see you're too big to bear a grudge about it."

He tossed his own trousers aside to join Jaskier's and stepped closer, letting his eyes trail over the lithe body before him. Jaskier twisted to take in the sight of Geralt in turn, and he frowned when his gaze reached the barely healed gash marring Geralt's flank. His hand pressed, feather-light, to the wound.

"This is new," he said.

Geralt's own fingers traced the thin red scratches on Jaskier's hip. He raised an eyebrow. "So are these."

The laugh he earned in response was warm and familiar. Of all the comforts Jaskier offered — his wit; his easy company; his body pressed against Geralt's in the night — it was always that laugh Geralt found himself longing for the most when they were parted.

Jaskier pressed his lips close to Geralt's ear. "Would you like to hear the story of how I got them?"

"Get on the bed."

Grinning, Jaskier obliged, stretching himself out in a way which looked effortless but Geralt was sure had been well practised for maximum effect. When it came to performing, Jaskier was nothing if not deliberate — and this was certainly a performance, with Geralt as enraptured audience.

They'd come a long way from desperate fumbles in the dark.

' _Why not enjoy it?_ ' Jaskier had said once. And despite his initial reservations about letting this thing between them grow into something dangerous, Geralt could see the appeal. No-one else ever looked at him the way Jaskier did, honest, uncomplicated affection in place of fear.

Geralt allowed himself a moment to enjoy the view of long, artfully arranged limbs, mapping out all the places he wanted to feel beneath his palms, his mouth. Bright blue eyes were fixed on him when Geralt's own finally met them.

"You know, it's not as fun if you don't join me," said Jaskier. He cocked his head in sudden thought. The flicker of mischief in his eyes, usually reserved for Jaskier's conquests about to be seduced, still tugged at something deep within Geralt. "Though I suppose it could be, in the right circumstances…"

Geralt followed the movement of Jaskier's hand down his body towards his cock, already growing hard in anticipation. He hummed and, after a long moment to consider the idea of watching Jaskier satisfy himself, he climbed onto the bed to join him.

He draped himself over Jaskier, privately delighting in the tiny hitch he caught in Jaskier's breathing when their skin touched, in the way Jaskier pressed himself up against Geralt's body to greedily seek out more contact. Geralt dipped his head to meet Jaskier's waiting lips in a kiss.

Jaskier's teeth grazed over Geralt's bottom lip. He brushed the very tips of his fingers along Geralt's cheekbone, before sliding them to his hair to untie the leather cord in one easy motion. It hadn't taken him long to learn how to do it with one hand. Geralt's hair tumbled free around them, almost as if it could hide them from the rest of the world.

He'd never had much use for the rest of the world, anyway.

"Are you going to be impatient?" Jaskier said.

Part of him was tempted. It had been months since he had last encountered Jaskier, months since he had felt that unique, bone deep relief, and even then he had been on his way again before dawn, pulled north towards Kaer Morhen where Jaskier could not follow. He could be forgiven for the desire to make up for lost time.

"I'm never impatient."

Jaskier scoffed, but Geralt didn't give him time to find an argument before he was kissing him again.

Geralt did not spend much of his life kissing. Many whores did not permit the act at all, and others would spare it little time or care. He had never felt himself particularly deprived because of it. But Jaskier's lips were soft and his tongue skilled, and when they kissed he liked to work his fingers into Geralt's hair and tease until Geralt couldn't help but moan against Jaskier's lips. He could spend all night just savouring the press of Jaskier's talented mouth on his.

Jaskier had other ideas, it seemed. He rocked his hips with increasing determination, dragging his hard cock against Geralt's until they were both gasping against each other's lips, his fingers curled blissfully tight in Geralt's hair. Jaskier's lips were dark when he wrenched Geralt back. Geralt could feel the tension in Jaskier's arms as he fought to keep Geralt from sinking down to taste them again.

"Geralt—" His voice had already turned rough with want, his heartbeat loud in Geralt's ears, and he swallowed, thickly.

Geralt's eyes traced the movement. He wanted to follow it with his tongue.

He grinned down at Jaskier. "Now who's impatient?"

"Just shut up and touch me."

He let his hands trail down Jaskier's flanks, too slow, as he settled back on his knees. Over the firm muscle of Jaskier's thighs, down his calves, and Geralt's hands curled around Jaskier's ankles to spread them, planting his feet onto the mattress on either side of Geralt's body. The view stretched out before him might have been his favourite in the entire continent: Jaskier offering himself to Geralt so wholly, so unlike anything else he had known.

Jaskier's eyes were still on him when Geralt looked back up. Hunger and impatience and something Geralt couldn't quite recognise burned within them.

"Are you going to wait until I'm as old as you are?" said Jaskier, though the strain in his voice took some of the bite out of his words.

"Hmm." Geralt brushed his thumb along the inside of Jaskier's ankle as he pretended to consider. He had never been one for teasing — he had never had the opportunity, with few besides whores who would even give him a second look — but there was something uniquely satisfying about making Jaskier squirm.

Geralt smoothed his hands along the inside of Jaskier's thighs and Jaskier let out a long, satisfied sigh in response, dropping his head back against the ornately carved headboard as if he didn't have a different woman doing this for him every night. Geralt's fingers paused over a purpling bruise high on Jaskier's inner thigh. It could only be a day or two old. He traced it with his fingertips as he quirked an eyebrow up at Jaskier.

Jaskier grinned. "You aren't jealous, remember?"

Geralt hummed and dipped his head, following the trail of his hands with wet kisses, savouring the feel of Jaskier's smooth skin under his lips, the faint smell of the floral soap Jaskier had always favoured still clinging to his skin. When he reached the bruise, Geralt bit down hard enough to make Jaskier gasp.

"Tell me what you want," said Geralt, his thumb brushing along the crease where Jaskier's thigh met his torso. He sucked at the bruise. Jaskier tensed beneath his lips.

"You know what I want."

Even if he didn't, it was easy enough to guess. Jaskier's cock curved, thick and enticing, up towards his flat stomach, heat radiating from his skin, the scent of his arousal so strong it almost made Geralt dizzy. It was no wonder Jaskier had so many admirers; it was impossible to resist him like this.

Geralt slithered forward and pressed his lips to Jaskier's cock. It throbbed beneath him in response, twitching against Jaskier's stomach as he let out a soft moan, and Geralt continued pressing wet kisses to his shaft. Jaskier was panting by the time Geralt reached the head and closed his lips around it. He was by no means an expert at this — compared to the way Jaskier could take him to pieces with his mouth on Geralt's cock, Geralt was woefully inexperienced — but Jaskier was always more than happy to let him practice. Slowly, Jaskier rolled his hips as Geralt sucked him, Geralt's hands teasing out across Jaskier's skin, feeling his racing pulse beneath his palms.

"Geralt," Jaskier breathed. His hands were in Geralt's hair again, and Geralt realised after a moment that he was gently working out the tangles with his fingers. The gesture brought a strange warmth to Geralt's chest.

He sank down, taking in more of Jaskier's length until Geralt's nose was buried in the thick hair at its root, where Jaskier's scent was most concentrated. At the sound Jaskier made in response, Geralt pulled back and repeated the motion. He kept at it until all he could taste was Jaskier's growing pleasure, listening for the change in his breathing. Beneath him, Jaskier was losing control of his hips. He pushed up into Geralt's mouth in search of release. Geralt pulled away before he could reach it.

Jaskier dropped his head back against the headboard with a noise of displeasure. "Bastard," he said.

"You want this to be over so soon?" As he spoke, Geralt let his fingers trail down from the base of Jaskier's cock, brushing over the skin behind Jaskier's balls with the smallest hint of pressure, watching Jaskier's expression melt into one of surrender the closer Geralt drew to his hole.

"All right," he said, shifting his hips to aid Geralt's continued exploration. "Maybe you have a point."

With one hand, Jaskier fumbled amongst his things strewn over the small table beside the bed and handed Geralt a vial of softly scented oil; already half empty, but it would be enough for tonight. Geralt's finger slipped easily into the familiar heat of Jaskier's body, and he soon added more, his free hand on Jaskier's hip to keep him from fucking himself against Geralt's fingers in his impatience as Geralt took his time working him open. He curled his fingers, rubbing inside Jaskier where he always felt it most.

"Oh, sweet—" A sharp moan cut off Jaskier's words. There was a flush creeping steadily over his cheeks, and Geralt stretched up the length of his heaving chest to kiss his heated skin as he finally withdrew his fingers.

Jaskier's eyes were on him, unwavering, while Geralt coated his cock and began the slow press inside, and Geralt was helpless to look away. Jaskier's gaze was as warm as his body around Geralt's cock. Geralt let himself fall into them both.

They sank into an easy rhythm, Jaskier wrapping his legs around Geralt, his hands smoothing over Geralt's skin and grasping at his shoulders, breathing sweet encouragement against Geralt's lips between messy kisses. Geralt had overheard Jaskier bedding others enough times to know that this was simply his way, but still he couldn't help but respond to the praise. For all Jaskier's flaws, a lack of sincerity was not among them. Besides, Geralt wanted to make Jaskier feel good. It was certainly an easier feat when Jaskier was always so forthcoming about what he liked.

He could hear every creak of the wooden bed frame with their movements, every slap of his thighs meeting the backs of Jaskier's own, the growing din of their accelerating heartbeats, and he let them all fall to the background, honing in only on Jaskier's soft moans and curses.

"Geralt," he said, fingers tightening at Geralt's shoulder and his eyes squeezing closed when Geralt thrust deep enough to leave them both gasping. His eyes were hazy with pleasure when they met Geralt's again. "You don't know how much I've missed this."

Geralt hummed, as if he didn't. He dropped his forehead to Jaskier's chest, damp with sweat, echoing with his racing heartbeat. Jaskier felt so good around him. He always felt so good around him.

Winding his arms under Jaskier's back, Geralt moved in one swift motion, pulling Jaskier up and into his lap. The movement had Jaskier sinking down further onto Geralt's cock and he groaned so sweetly at the sensation. Like this, Jaskier could take charge of their movements, and Geralt peered up to watch him, Jaskier's arms still tight around Geralt's shoulders, his hips rocking against Geralt with expert precision. One hand still wrapped around Jaskier, Geralt let his free hand slip down to clutch at the meat of his ass, skin soft and muscle firm, tensing beneath Geralt's palm with his movements. Jaskier's cock smeared a wet trail up and down Geralt's stomach where it was pressed between them, yet Jaskier seemed more consumed with grabbing a messy fistful of Geralt's hair than sliding his hand between them to see to his own pleasure.

Steadily Jaskier's movements grew less rhythmic, the words he breathed against Geralt's lips turning half-formed and moaning. Geralt wasn't in a much better state himself. His body ached with his need to sink deeper, seek out more, consume everything Jaskier offered him and more. He sucked at Jaskier's jaw; his neck; everywhere he could reach.

"Jask," he said into the sweat-damp, fragrant heat of Jaskier's skin. His hands were probably clutching at Jaskier tight enough to bruise, but he couldn't loosen his grip if he tried. If he let go of the tension seizing his every muscle he'd be sure to let his climax descend as well.

"Do it," said Jaskier. The roughness in his voice alone might have been enough for Geralt to obey.

He closed his eyes, let his focus drift to Jaskier's body pressed everywhere against his own as relief washed over him. Geralt was barely aware of the desperate noise he made against Jaskier's neck, or the things it might have revealed. It didn't matter. Jaskier wouldn't judge him for it. He didn't open his eyes again until the fire had seeped from his veins.

In the heat between them, he could feel Jaskier's knuckles grazing his stomach as he worked himself, his free hand still smoothing through Geralt's hair. Like he was handling glass, Geralt laid him back down and let his lips roam over Jaskier's chest. He replaced Jaskier's hand with his own, stroking his length until it pulsed in Geralt's palm and Jaskier's breath caught. He came with the same soft groan Geralt too often found himself replaying in the dark.

Geralt's gaze wandered over Jaskier's flushed cheeks; his skin shining with sweat; the beads of his release caught in his chest hair. Jaskier looked up at him with a dopey smile. Geralt could feel a similar one on his own face.

"That was even better than last time," said Jaskier.

Geralt answered him with a kiss.

No sooner had Geralt yielded to his body's urge to drop down onto the mattress than Jaskier had moved beside him, curling at Geralt's side and pillowing his head on Geralt's chest. It had thrown Geralt at first, this continued closeness, but he was coming to accept that for Jaskier this part was every bit as important as the rest. And, with Jaskier's hand coming to lazily tease Geralt's nipple as he littered his chest with kisses, Geralt wasn't about to complain. He closed his eyes and let Jaskier shower him with languid affection until the blissful haze that had settled over them both began to drift away.

Jaskier was the first to move, coming out from under the spell as easily as he had surrendered to it, and he crossed to the washbasin on the far side of the room to clean himself up while Geralt watched through lidded eyes. He didn't know how long it would be before the two of them met again; he might as well savour the view while he could.

"It was nice to get to do this in an actual bed, for once," Jaskier said, as he climbed back onto the bed and threw the covers over them both. Geralt didn't object. Nor did he move to put more distance between them when Jaskier settled close at his side once again.

"Probably not for the bed."

Jaskier laughed. He brushed the hair back from Geralt's forehead, his eyelids already drooping, his breathing slowing as sleep beckoned him. Well, he had certainly earned it.

Geralt watched him slip under, unburdened by the kinds of thoughts which kept Geralt awake for hours each night. He should have been using this time to steal away from Jaskier's side and head back onto the road. He would be able to seek out a contract sooner if he had already reached the next town by morning. And even if Geralt could spare the time, it was better to leave before Jaskier woke.

He had never been one for goodbyes — he'd never needed to be. There were precious few people in Geralt's life he ever expected to cross paths with more than once. Yet another thing Jaskier had upended with his intrusion into Geralt's life. It was easier to slip away in the dark, before Jaskier could tempt him to stay a few days. Before he could insist on following Geralt in search of adventure.

But it was too easy to let the steady rise and fall of Jaskier's breathing lull him into something almost like comfort. It had been a long day on the road, he supposed, and his body was crying out for some rest.

He closed his eyes, just for a moment.

Geralt was still lying there beside Jaskier when morning light began to seep through the crack in the window shutters and the sounds of a town rousing for the day reached Geralt's ears. He blinked the last clinging remnants of sleep away, and with a glance at Jaskier still dozing, he slipped from the bed.

Quietly he crossed to their discarded clothes and picked up his trousers. They were barely past his thighs when Jaskier stirred, stretching out his limbs with the lazy elegance of a cat. He looked over to Geralt. To his credit, he didn't look surprised to see him preparing to leave.

"You should stay for breakfast, at least," he said, voice thick with sleep, and he yawned as he rubbed a hand through his hair. He had never been at his sharpest first thing in the morning. Long ago were the days when Geralt would be annoyed at him for that.

Geralt forced down the urge to reach out and rake his own hand through Jaskier's hair. "No."

He was still leaving. Jaskier catching him before he could slip away didn't change that. Jaskier was doing well here; he'd wring out as much sex and coin from the townsfolk as he could until he wore out his welcome and would move on to do the same in the next town, until he and Geralt met each other again. All Geralt needed to do was say goodbye.

Jaskier propped himself up on one elbow to watch him. "Do you know where you're heading?"

"I have some ideas."

Fingers too slow in the fastenings of his clothes, Geralt finished dressing. But instead of picking up his swords and heading for the door, he sat back on the edge of the bed. It had been a long winter at Kaer Morhen; not lonely, really, but there had been something missing. The months of hunting before it had felt the same. No campfire tales; no easy laughter; no finer rooms or extra coin charmed out of the people he encountered. The thought of going straight back to that…

Geralt met Jaskier's waiting gaze.

"Come with me."


End file.
